


A Day in the life of John Watson

by MorningWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10028768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningWriter/pseuds/MorningWriter
Summary: A frustrated John and a stubborn Sherlock!





	

When John walked into the flat he had wished that he was surprised by the sound of loud buzzing coming from the kitchen. Groceries in hand, he shut the door behind him with his foot and went toward the noise.   
“Honestly, Sherlock, just one time you could get the groceries,” John said, announcing his presence before his eyes suddenly widened.  
On the kitchen table was a corpse of a large Scottish man. Wearing nothing but a sheet to cover his waist, the man’s corpse looked pretty normal except for the fact that the top of his head was missing. Yes, from the forehead up his head was a bowl of nothing. His brain lay in Sherlock’s gloved hands.  
“What the hell are you doing?!” John gasped, putting down the bags of groceries before staring at the tall brunette.   
Moving the brain to one hand, Sherlock pulled his goggles off, “Experiment,” he replied before placing the large organ into a salad bowl that John had bought only a few weeks back.  
“There’s a corpse in the kitchen. There’s a corpse in the- “John paused, “Does Mrs. Hudson know?!” he asked.  
“Well when you say it that loudly I’m sure she’ll come up and investigate!” Sherlock retorted, sitting down on a kitchen chair and removing his gloves, “Honestly John, if you’re still surprised it makes me wonder why you’re here at all,” he said then rested his elbows on the table and put his finger tips together.  
John just stood there, mouth open. For a second he considered living a much cushier life somewhere else, away from consulting detectives and their…lifestyle.   
“Why didn’t you do this at Bart’s?” John finally asked, picking up the groceries again and inching his way past the table and wall to get to the fridge.  
Once to the fridge, he opened it and started to place the milk, eggs and a few vegetables inside.  
Sherlock was silent for a moment, contemplating something before he unplugged the saw he used to cut the man’s head open, “Molly wasn’t there,” he replied before shooting up out of his chair and over to the bowl with the brain inside.  
John paused and looked over, holding the fridge open, “So? She’s not the only one working there,” he pointed out.  
“She’s the only one who will work with me. The rest are idiots. Besides, this is much easier. Bart’s has nothing I need to conduct my experiment. Which reminds me, meet Harold McLagan. He dropped dead merely twenty minutes ago. Suspected brain aneurism but that theory is slowly proving false,” Sherlock explained, lifting the bowl to study what was inside.  
Suddenly John slammed the fridge door shut, “You cut this man’s head open when he died just a few minutes ago??” he asked, bewildered.  
“Twenty minutes and fifteen seconds, do pay attention John,” Sherlock explained coldly then set the bowl down and walked into the sitting room and went toward the window.  
John followed close behind, fists clenched at his sides, “Does his family know that his brain isn’t where it supposed to be?” he asked.  
“Family? Why would they care? He won’t be using it anymore,” Sherlock replied, squinting his eyes slightly as he studied the taxi’s outside.  
John let out a frustrated sigh, deciding to give up on the conversation. He sat down in his chair and pulled out his phone from his pocket, “Lestrade is having a dinner next week. We’re invited,” he said, changing the subject.  
“A dinner? Mmm, not going, far too busy,” Sherlock replied rather quickly before jumping into his own chair and hugging his knees.  
Peering over his phone, John almost smiled before shaking his head, “You’re going Sherlock. You’re his friend,” he said.  
“Friend?” Sherlock said, making the word sound bitter on his tongue, “What about Donovan or Anderson? I don’t need to be there,” he said, trying to get out of it.  
Texting, John didn’t look up this time, “You can have more than one friend. It’ll be nice and it’ll get you away from…that,” John said, gesturing to the kitchen before texting once more.  
“What did you do this time?” Sherlock suddenly asked, shifting to sit properly in his chair.  
“What do you mean?” John asked, a little surprised.  
“Mary. You’re texting her. What did you do?” Sherlock asked then leaned forward, “No wait…let me see. Obviously she’s angry with you. It’s about me,” he said.  
John scowled and put his phone away, “You know, everything I do doesn’t revolve around you,” he pointed out.  
“Putting your phone away suggests I’m right John. That the fact you were angry with me when you walked in the door and that you are willing to drag me to an idiotic party where we all make a happy little toast to another good year when really it’s been complete rubbish. Mary is mad because you spend too much time with me when you really should be there with her. After all, she is having your baby and I must admit she is right. No woman wants to be alone when giving birth. Especially to John Watson’s child,” Sherlock said then smirked a little and leaned back.  
John simply sat there, looking unimpressed. Then, he got up, “I’m going to see Mary,”  
“Good idea,” Sherlock replied, picking up his violin,  
“Shut up,” John retorted, “And you’re going to the party,”   
“Make me,” Sherlock said, grinning a little as he rested the bow on his violin. When John looked back to reply, the brunette detective started to play.  
John wouldn’t stay mad for long.


End file.
